The Devil's Gift

We are many. They are more. I don’t like them. They laugh. We mourn.

I expect Harris to win. But if she doesn’t, what then?

All my MAGA friends are worried.

I remember when “old friend” only meant “dear friend.” Now it actually means old—as in, well, doddering.

First Helene. Then Milton. Massive hurricanes inflicting death and destruction on innocent people.

I found myself in one of those churches that are fueling the Trump cult. Oh me, oh my.

Alaska’s wildlife is awesome. And so is its railroad.

St. Peter’s Basilica can’t hold a candle to Denali.

I’ve put mushrooms on my salads. Now they’re on my mind.

I turned 75 this past Tuesday. But I almost didn’t. A raging bull charged me.